The Peculiarities of Hamish Watson Holmes
by TheCresent
Summary: Hamish Watson Holmes is in a desperate panic. His Father left to work on a case and his Dad left to go help. He hasn't seen them since and now he's on a mission to find them.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters of Doyle or anything of BBC. Even though we all wish we did. Please review if you liked it and if you don't like it feel free to tell me how i can improve. :)

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I was always a peculiar child.

I didn't make friends easily.

I was always scaring adults.

I was different.

But I was okay with that because Dad always told me, "Different people are the most special people." When I was little sometimes I would cry to my parents and I would beg them to make everything stop. I didn't like what was going on in my head. The voice, always telling me stuff.

It wasn't bad stuff.

It was just stuff.

The voice would show me things that I couldn't always see. It would tell me things that I didn't always think. It was my teacher. My Dad didn't really understand. At night I could hear him and my Father fighting over it. He would yell at my Father in exasperation and my Father would say cruel, cruel things.

I would always cry.

It was my fault they fought, I hated seeing them fight.

I was a peculiar child.

When I when I was younger, I didn't think there was anything wrong in my family. We were very normal as far as I was concerned. Every Christmas, we would put up a tree and even though Father would always say "I don't understand why this is necessary. Putting a bloody tree in the living space." He would go off on a tinge about the tree but Dad would just laugh. Then everyone would come to the apartment, Aunt Molly (even though I knew she wasn't really my aunt I just didn't have the heart to tell Father and Dad that, just like I didn't tell them I knew Father Christmas wasn't real) and Mr. Lestrade and Uncle Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson and occasionally Grandmother and Grandfather Holmes, though that was seldom. The adults would do secret Santa and I would get gifts from everyone. Mrs. Hudson would bring cookies and sweets. Father would play a piece on his violin and I would dance around.

Then it was time I started school. Father was against it. He said that I was better than all the rest of them, but it was not as nice, how he said it. Dad wouldn't have at it though. Dad is almost more stubborn then Father sometimes. So it happened that on the first of September I began my education. I was dropped off by just my Dad, Father was away that week on business.

I sat there quietly.

I think Dad was expecting me to cry or something because he kept patting my back and holding on to me. I told him I was okay, that he could leave.

I guess I hurt his feelings.

I watched as the other kids strolled in. Everyone filled in around me; I even received some pitting looks from several parents. Soon everyone was in a seat; the tables were assigned so that there would be three to each but the two on either side of me remand empty. I wasn't really bothered by this but I did feel lonely.

My Dad picked me up and asked me how my day was.

I didn't respond

I think eventually my Dad realized that Father was right. Maybe it was the fact that I cried at night about having no friends. Or the phone calls home from my teacher complaining about my behavior even though I had done nothing wrong. Maybe it was the fact that I asked a little girl why she had a mom and a dad.

She said she didn't know.

I may have yelled at her for not knowing.

I grew up without friends. My Father taught me everything I needed to know. I remember one time Dad got mad that Father wasn't teaching me about the solar system, Father said it was irrelevant.

I thought that conversation was funny.

Every Saturday if Father wasn't away on business, we would play games. Not boring games like Monopoly or Uno. Fun games. One time I insisted on Cluedo, my parents were resigned to it but eventually they gave in.

My Father was amazing when he wasn't in one of his quiet moods. Those were the worse because I couldn't talk. When I was little Dad would have to take me outside and we would go to the park. When he wasn't in a mood we would talk about different cases he was working on. He said he liked having a different pair of eyes exam his work.

As I got older I began to realize more about my parents. I know that they were trying to shelter it from me but I was going to find out one way or another. It started when I was around 12 years old. I was on the internet and I came across an article about the Great Sherlock Holmes.

I read it.

The article claimed my Father was a fake.

I couldn't read it.

I ran out of my room in tears my Father surprisingly came to my side and hugged me.

I had to tell him

He wanted to know what was wrong.

I couldn't tell him.

I told him a lie, that I can't remember and he comforted me. I felt closer to him after that. Once I gathered enough courage I began doing my own research. I wasn't too happy with what I found. My Father faked his death but tricked everyone into thinking it was real. He was claimed a fraud. I read everything I could about him.

I found my Dad's blog about him, which made me smile.

I found my Father's blog, which just confused me.

Now I had to find them.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Sherlock-y. or the characters, which is a shame I suppose. This story was an idea I had while anxiously awaiting season 3.

Enjoy(:

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I didn't notice anything at first. It was a Saturday morning and Father had been working on a case the previous days. He had left the night before which wasn't unusual. It seemed to be his thing, leaving and not returning for a few hours sometimes a few days.

Most of the times Dad wouldn't go with him, there were exceptions of course, once I was older. However, he preferred staying home with me to keep me safe. When I was little I didn't understand why. He would refuse to go with Father; he said he wanted to keep me safe. Sometimes Father would get so sad when Dad said no.

I understand why he wanted to keep me safe.

Fathers work attracts many unstable, wicked men. Dad wanted someone to be home in case, for some reason those men found their way here.

I think Father understands that too.

That previous night Dad received a phone call. I knew something was wrong the minute he answered. I could hear the rigidness in the voice on the opposing end; Dad's features fell a thousand miles a second. He didn't even say a word. He just hung up and ran to his room. When he came back out with his coat on I was scared.

"Dad, what's going on?" I insisted.

He wouldn't say anything.

"Dad! Please! You have to tell me," I ran up behind him and grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. I was taller than him and stronger, I took after my Father in my physical attributes, tall and lean with curly black hair, sharp blue eyes, prominent cheek bones, and I was very agile. "Has it got something to do with Father?" I whispered.

He looked away from me, thus confirming my question with his silence.

"What happened to him?" I was starting to get angry at my Dad.

He took in a deep breath, "Hamish, you remember who to contact in case someone is in the house that shouldn't be?"

I nodded my head.

"Good. You remember all the ninjutsu lessons you went through?"

Of course I did, I was top student and given a scholarship because of my skill in the class.

I nodded my head.

"You need to stay put. Don't leave-"

I cut him off mid sentence " I can't just stay here if something is wrong! I need to help!"

"No! No, no you stay here, make sure Mrs. Hudson is safe. Don't talk to anyone you don't know." He was already walking down the stair case heading to the street.

"I can't just let you leave." I yelled out, as he walked out the door.

So there I was.

Alone.

I don't know what felt worse.

The fact I knew my parents, the two people I loved most in this world, were in danger. A danger I couldn't help to tame. Or that I was alone with my thoughts.

I don't know how Father could stand being alone. It's so…. Lonely.

Everyday Mrs. Hudson would come up for tea and we would chat. It was forced though. We both knew something beyond our control was at works, but what could a little old lady and a 16 year old boy do?

I was beginning to worry by the 3 day without them back. I don't know how I did it but I started researching. Sifting through every paper in the house, the photographs, web history, anything that would give me a clue.

I know that my Father is the world's greatest consulting detective. I know that my Dad worked alongside him. I know how he worked on everything and in the end no one believed him. I can't begin to imagine the pain he felt when his world was tumbling down, and he couldn't stop it. He had to let it happen.

I wasn't able to imagine it, until now.

Now I know what a fraction of it must've felt. And if the pain I feel right now is only a fraction I don't want to know the whole.

It is hell.

As I looked around I began noticing things. I put the pieces of the puzzle together. I was working out what was happening.

My Father had been working on a case that consisted of, stolen jewels, two dead men, an empty car, and the disappearance of one young lady by the name of Jenna Fields. From what I was able to piece together, Jenna was unknowingly smuggling ancient jewels across the border of France and Germany, two assassins were hired to hind her and take the jewels, the empty car was were the two assassins were found dead, both shot in the head and the next Jenna was reported missing.

I had never actually tried solving a case out myself.

It seems rather hard and the patients it requires is a skill I have yet to attain.

But I had to find my parents.

I was on a mission. Who knows where it would lead to, or what the consequence of my actions might be. I had to find my parents.

**A/N: to be honest im not quiet sure where this story is leading. i had an idea and just had to write it out. i hope it doesn't turn out badly.**

**Please comment and review. :) **

**also you can leave your thoughts of The empty hearse here, as long as it doesn't spoil to much ;) i would love to discuss it with same hard core fans. **


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own no sherlock what so ever. All characters (a side from Hamish) is a work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only own the plot and the events that take place in this fic.

Hope You Enjoy :D

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It had taken me less than five minutes to leave.

I had scrawled a note to Mrs. Hudson explaining where I was.

Well actually no, it read more like:

_Dear Mrs. Hudson,_

_ Don't worry, I'll be back. Eventually that is. Just don't call the police. _

_ With so much love,_

_ Hamish _

I didn't have time to tell her where I was and if she was as smart as I thought she was, she probably already knew what was going on. I could practically hear her in my head, _ "You are so much like your father, dear." _ I knew I was just like him. At first, I was against the idea that I had an ounce of similarity to him, not because I hated him or thought that he was a bad person, but because I felt an expectation. I thought people would think that I had the same extraordinary talent as he. This basically explains my teenage rebellion that I don't think my parents were expecting.

Predominantly, Father.

He wasn't very good at children to begin with and I caused him so much strife.

I would come home smelling of cigar smoke, which killed my Father because he was trying to quit the habit. I never actually told them I wasn't the one smoking it was my "friend" doing the smoking. I would play this terrible music that I didn't even like. I had posters of heavy metal bands that I faked liking. I hid liquor under my mattress that I never drunk. I would act terribly in public. I was trying to destroy the reputation my parents had built up for me.

I never told them why I was acting so terribly.

I kind of half wanted my Dad and Father to ask me what was going on. They just looked really sad when I was with them, which was one of the reasons why I couldn't hold the act up. The other half of me thought that my Father would pick up on what was going on. That he would "read" me and know, just like with one of his clients. I guess I was wrong.

I did apologize eventually though.

By now I was near the end of the street. I had a general idea of where I was headed so I continued walking. It had started getting dark when I realized I had no clue where I was. Father had made it a large part of my learning to educate me on the Streets of London. I wasn't as successful as he had hoped. I knew the majority of the street names and the buildings that could be or could not be found on a street but as for the rest of them, well I just didn't know. I kept walking and talking random lefts and rights until I found myself on a road I was familiar with.

Somehow I had frustratingly ended up right where I started.

Baker Street.

I knew that if I kept at this I would never find my way, so I sluggishly walked towards 221b the flat my parents had lived in for around the past two and a half decades. I opened the black wooden door with the golden numbering I had grown found of. I trudged up the stairs. Each step was like having another weight of terrible guilt put on my back.

Another step.

I abandoned my parents

Another step.

They could be in danger right now.

Another step.

It had been three days.

Another step.

I am the worst person in the world.

Last step.

They could be ….

I couldn't think that word. I just collapsed on the sofa, my back to the room. My back to everything that mattered.

I cried.

I cried.

I cried harder then I have my enter life and I was sixteen. Some part of just stopped caring about my dignity.

More than the time I fell off a swing at the park. More than the time I broke my arm. More than the time I realized who my parents were.

I was a terrible person.

I think at one point Mrs. Hudson came up but I'm not to sure. I remember someone patting my back and telling me it was going to be okay. She asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I don't think I replied.

I fell asleep.

**A/N: Well this is chapter three. I really do hope you enjoyed it. **

**on another note, Sherlock is almost over! o.O **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock and the events in this story are all fiction as is all fanfiction. **

**A/N: I've decided to carry on with this story. At first it was just going to be a one shot but by the time I had written the first chapter, it had gone in a different direction then I was expecting. **

**I hope you enjoy!**

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I was immediately embarrassed.

The memories of last night were slowly creeping in.

Why had I over reacted? I was being thick and only thinking (or not thinking) in the moment. My cheeks burned red at the reminder of the untouched tea on the floor next to where I sat.

Poor Mrs. Hudson. I felt terrible.

As I sat there sulking in my own pathetic misery someone knocked on the door. Now it could only be one other person so I didn't bother asking who it was. My silence apparently didn't give off the impression of wanting to be alone. The door creaked open and in came none other Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, you're up sweetie?" She said in her quiet, motherly voice. "I brought up some more tea and toast if you get hungry…"

I looked at her and I knew she could still tell something was really bothering me. I never did tell her why I was crying but I felt like she knew anyways. She was smart that way. I could hear her walk towards me, the sound of her thick heels clicking against the wooden flooring. She sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. I slumped forward.

"Do you want to talk about it, love?" she said after a few minutes of rather uncomfortable silence.

I just shook my head in protest. I did not want to talk about of much of an idiot I was yesterday. I couldn't tell her that I thought I could figure out what had happened to them only to end back on Baker Street.

"You do know they aren't…." I looked at her prompting with my eyes to let her go on even though I knew what she was going to say. "You know…"

I knew.

"How?" I dared to utter the first of words of the day. Bad idea on my part because my voice still had that thick sloppy sound.

"Because it would be the news!" she was very happy that I had said something, or it was just because she was Mrs. Hudson.

I mentally slapped myself. Of course it would be in the news. My Father was the Great Sherlock Holmes and my Dad was the blogger John Watson.

And I was just Hamish.

The supposed to be prodigy son.

The too stupid for my Father.

The disappointment to my Dad.

I was just Hamish.

I hated being just Hamish.

When I was younger I hated my name because it sounded like ham mush. I hated ham. My Dad told me that was his middle name and he loved it. Even though I heard him talking about him hating his middle name I would never tell him I heard that. I still don't like my name.

Maybe I could still find my parents….

I would obviously need help since I can't even seem to walk down the street without messing up.

I stood up and hugged the old land lady. She hugged me back.

"Now you go and eat something before you pass out!" she ordered.

I didn't tell her that I was feeling sick to my stomach; I just swallowed as much as I could without throwing up.

I was debating on whether or not to call Lestrade. Dad said it was going to be fine but he also always said that he would be back soon.

Soon was a long time ago.

I picked up my cell phone.

No missed calls.

No new texts.

I pulled up Lestrade's contact but didn't press anything. I wasn't sure if he would be able to help.

Maybe he was on the case too.

Usually Father would say something about him. I hadn't been paying much attention to the things he said, lately. I regret that.

Finally, my better judgment got the best of me and I I called him.

The phone rang once.

Maybe I should hang up.

It rang again.

He probably knows whats going on and he would just find this call annoying.

It rang again.

Yeah, this was a bad idea.

_"Hello?"_ A deep masculine voice said on the other line.

Too late now I guess.

"Um, hi…"

_"Hamish? Is that you?"_

**A/N: thank you all for the reviews they mean soooo much to me.**

**As I was saying before, I'm not sure what's going to shape this story, so if you're interested in seeing Hamish or anyone else does something please let me know and I will try and incorporate it in J**

**Please Review/Comment and maybe if you're feeling generous favorite?**


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry I haven't uploaded sooner, I've been procrastinating because I feel like this story is a no go.

I've appreciated the reviews and they are honestly the only thing that keeps me writing this.

I'm going to try and make this a good chapter that moves the plot along.

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock this is merely a fanfiction I am writing out of love for my favorite fictional character in existence .**

Chapter 5

* * *

I was debating on whether or not to call Lestrade. Dad said it was going to be fine but he also always said that he would be back soon. Soon was a long time ago. I picked up my cell phone.

No missed calls.

No new texts.

I pulled up Lestrade's contact but didn't press anything. I wasn't sure if he would be able to help. Maybe he was on the case too. Usually Father would say something about him. I hadn't been paying much attention to the things he said, lately. I regret that. Finally, my better judgment got the best of me and I I called him.

The phone rang once.

Maybe I should hang up. It rang again. He probably knows what's going on and he would just find this call annoying. It rang again.

Yeah, this was a bad idea.

_"Hello?"_ A deep masculine voice said on the other line. Too late now I guess.

"Um, hi…"

_"Hamish? Is that you?"_

* * *

"Yes." I wasn't able to say more. I don't know why but my voice wasn't working, it was like someone had stuffed a wad of cotton in my throat and every time I opened my mouth to speak more, only more cotton was stuffed in. It wasn't like I was doing anything wrong. My parents were in trouble and Lestrade could help. I don't know why there was an instense wave of regret that washed over me.

Was it the thought that I was possibly betraying my Dad's trust?

Was it the fact that I didn't know what to say?

Maybe it was that I had been such a baby and now I need adult help when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself.

_Obviously I wasn't able to do it myself_, I berated myself. I needed to say something now but I was still lost for words. The only thing I could manage to say was a simple but meaningful, "Help." He had asked me what was wrong and I didn't know what to say because I didn't know what was wrong besides. I had no leads. All I knew was what the background story had been leading up to my Fathers disappearance.

_"Hamish, what's going on? Are you at Baker Street? I'll be there in a few don't do anything." _His voice was heavy with anguish and concern.

The line dropped after that and I sat there in sullenness, the dead air consuming my presence. There was an interval of time in which I could hear a car door slam and feet slamming on the stair case. Then it was noiseless. That only lasted for a few seconds though. I looked up assessing Lestrade. His hair was graying more than the last time I saw him which was only last month. He had his usual attire of a nice pressed suit and black slacks and a black heavy looking trench coat. His habiliments gave the impression of one who is composed and collected however, his face told a different story. The lines creasing between his brow were deeper than usual, and his brown eyes gleaming with fatherly concern.

He came over to site by me and turned slightly in so our knees were almost touching. I could tell he was out of breath. I looked at him again. I was suddenly very tired and wanted nothing in the world more then to go to bed but I had a mission and that was to find my parents.

"So can you tell me why you called me?" Lestrade questioned. I was still silent trying to assemble the equitable story I was to tell him. He continued to sit there and I could tell he was contemplating standing up. I didn't want him to do that so I spoke expeditiously, slurring the words that tumbled out of my mouth.

"Father went on a case and then Dad got a phone call and I could tell something was wrong and I wanted to help but Dad insisted on me staying here and he said he would be back soon but that was days ago and I haven't heard back and I tried finding them but I was useless and now I'm frustrated and scared and it was either you or Mycroft, I told and I honestly don't want to speak to Mycroft so I called you," I paused taking a deep breath as I had just spit that out of my mouth in one breath. "Please I need your help finding them." The plead was evident in my tired voice, I was desperate to find them.

I missed them so much.

* * *

I remember the first time I had felt a sense of panic, induced by my parents. I was six years old and Father had taken Dad and I to a library, so he could find some book that had to do with some case he was working on. Dad brought me to the child's section and I began picking out books. I loved reading and still do. Anyways, I had about ten books piled up around me and I was deeply immersed in them. I remember that the book had something to do with a purple crayon but, that was irrelevant right now. When I looked up from my story Dad was nowhere to be seen. I stood up and ran over to the next aisle of books. He wasn't there. I checked every single one and I couldn't find him. I was about to cry. I ran over the where Father had been previously and he wasn't there either. Now I was full on balling. A librarian rushed over to me and asked me what was wrong. I said I couldn't find my parents and sympathy filled their eyes. The lady took my hand reassuringly and asked me where I had last seen them.

I replied with over by the children's books and she walked me over that way. The tears where still streaming down my cheeks but I wasn't sobbing like I was before. We looked in only two aisles before we found my Dad. He looked scared and frantic.

"Hamish! Where did you get too? I was so terrified!" he ran over to me and knelt down and hugged me and I let go of the nice lady's hand and held on for dear life. My Dad thanked her and smiled apologetically and she, I assumed smiled back, but I was facing the other way so I wasn't too sure of it. Father walked briskly to us and hugged me as well and gave me a stern look. Later I found out that I had not noticed my Dad and Father talking at the end of the aisle.

This of course right now was worse but I needed to over look my feelings of freight.

I almost forgot Lestrade was there when he spoke, "It's okay we'll find them don't worry."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this story! A few fellow Sherlockians and I are working on a youtube series and I can't contain my excitement! I'll put a link to the page when it's up **

**Please Comment and Review they are very much welcomed.**


	6. Chapter 6

**i hope you all enjoy this chapter :) I'm updating early because I was desperate to get out of doing work... which now i have to do...**

_"So can you tell me why you called me?" Lestrade questioned. I was still silent trying to assemble the equitable story I was to tell him. He continued to sit there and I could tell he was contemplating standing up. I didn't want him to do that so I spoke expeditiously, slurring the words that tumbled out of my mouth._

* * *

The first thing Lestrade asked me was where I last knew Father to be. I pointed over towards the wall littered with all of his papers and maps and pictures that had to do with the case he was working. Lestrade stepped past me, brushing my back with his hand as if to comfort me, he then faced the wall above the sofa that I was previously sulking on. He looked at everything examining each paper, all the highlighter marks, the arrows drown back and forth. He traced his finger on the outline my Father had made of a map around London. He took in the pictures of the young woman, Jenna Fields, in the picture he was looking at the young lady was looking behind herself frantically. It was hard to tell because of the quality of the camera but you could see the outline of a gun in her pocket. The photo located below that one, showed two bulky men running.

"That's all that he has…" I said feebly. I was not too sure what kind of help I needed to give. He was after all, the detective not me. I could hear Lestrade mumbling about how "Sherlock always had to go off and solve the crime," and "He walked into this one." He turned around to me and I could tell he was very stressed, more so then when he had arrived at 221b Baker Street.

Looking at me he gathered a deep breath, "Okay so here's the deal," I nodded my head so he knew he could continue on, "Your Father took a case that was classified government information, I don't want to even know how he got it, Mycroft would never have given it to him." He shook his head in baffled amazement.

I just wanted him to get on with it.

I just wanted to know where he was.

I just wanted to find my parents.

"Anyways," Lestrade continued sensing my growing anxiety. "This, well for lack of better terms, bastard, decided to take it upon himself to solve this bloody case even though we warned him. The git thought he could solve!"

I just wanted to know where he was.

And why he was there.

And who had called my dad.

I didn't care about 'classified information.'

"Where is he then?" the inpatients was pushing its way out of my mouth. "Where are both of them?"

I knew Lestrade was angry at this situation but I needed answers. Badly.

"Hamish, the thing is…." _Oh god, not this again! I just want an answer! _

"Well you see…" he tried finishing but only drifted off not knowing how to complete his statements.

"Yes? What is it?" I begged.

Lestrade rubbed the back of his head and his eyes flicked over to the grandfather clock over the mantle. The clock ticked away the seconds that passed in silence. Finally, he gathered his thoughts, "You may want to come with me to St. Barts. It might be easier to explain all of this."

I wasn't too sure what there was to explain. I just wanted an answer, and yes maybe to was to much to ask for, but he could at least try to help me look for them. I just wanted someone to help me and now we were going to St. Bartholomew Hospital.

The first time I ever visited St. Bart's was when I was ten. Father had been begging Dad to take me and every time Dad said I was too young. I was not aware of what St. Bart's was but I was curious and I wanted to find out, so I also joined in on Father's begging. It took a while for Dad to crack though because by my tenth birthday he had said it was okay and so the next day we took a visit to this relatively new place, but not so new to everyone else.

I was in awe.

The pristine white walls and the shinny floor the nice receptionist at the front desk who gave me a lolly. Yes, those were the simplistic aspects but it also was interesting in a way that only a young child can understand. When we got to the floor and the room, fourth floor room five to be exact, my Father was absolutely giddy. This was apparently a big dream of his, to take his son to visit the morgue.

I was personally repelled at first but then I saw the way, Dad was looking at me cautiously and the way Father was gleaming at my with a bright smile. So I smiled back. Even though I didn't like it at first it grew to be one of my most favorite places to visit.

It was very simple then.

**A/N: **Now i must do work! Fun...

I've also been revising pervious chapters, it's not necessary to reread them i just added some new detail and I'm just fixing errors i had.

Please Review! :D


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